


Brave

by Sandywolf



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Smuppet Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandywolf/pseuds/Sandywolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave knows what Smuppets mean to his Bro. That doesn't stop him from exploiting it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kink meme. C:

It's not really intentional, what he's doing. In fact, it's more of a casually ironic circumstance that he finds himself in this day. Everything seems normal, and really, things _are_. But at the same time they're far from it, and who is he, or anyone for that matter, to argue?

Of course, that doesn't mean he brings that fact to light. No, Dave Strider is known for playing the waiting game, and he's quite content to do so, quite content to continue his ministrations, and to expertly ignore what's he's only just come to realize is the fleeting, but sultry glare his brother is pinning him with.

They're not touching, not speaking, not even sitting in the same room. Dave is lounging on the couch, filthy and reeking of sweat and men and blood. But that's okay because the television is on and the static noise is keeping his attention long enough to distract him from the absolute waste the apartment and its furniture have become.

But not enough so much as to distract him from the occupant of the adjoining kitchen.

Bro is seemingly ignoring him, hip cocked, arms folded as he waits patiently by the microwave. His shades are shadowing his whole face, leaving his expression a mystery, but that's okay because Dave has an ironic degree in reading posture, and even from his haphazard position on the couch he can tell his brother is very, very unnerved.

By _what_ though is the question.

Perhaps the channel is what's bugging him, and Dave flicks it over to something both equally mind numbingly insane and utterly unironic, but Bro doesn't flinch, doesn't even register the changing of the program, and he flicks it back impatiently.

After that he wonders if maybe it's just that their microwave only has enough power to cook about one thing a week, and that usually it's wasted on swords and smuppets anyway. But a harsh cacophony of electronic screeches and beeps lets him know that whatever Bro is cooking is at least somewhat done, and that his wait is over.

But even as he takes a seat at the counter separating the kitchen and living room, Bro's shoulders never seem to relax.  
What then, he wonders, is the problem?

Beneath his fingers is the soft, supple flesh of a light blue Smuppet. He's not sure just when exactly it found itself on his lap, and under most circumstances he probably would have flung it away, but something about its pleasant blue aura left him strangely accepting at the time, so the Smuppet had stayed.

And so it was a completely unintentional, completely involuntary thing that he did with his fingers as it sat there. Pads running up the length of its abnormally long... nose? Was it a nose? Palms smoothing over the head, producing a noise somewhat akin to a squeak, but more reminiscent to a squawk. Dave pays no attention to either fact, just watches some woman on tv yell at her husband for what seems to be the tenth time as he glances to and from Bro's face and tries to understand what's got his demeanor so severe.

As he shifts in his seat, the Smuppet slips and Dave catches it without a second thought, placing it back on his lap after wondering for a moment if maybe he should just toss it. But it's soft and he's feeling a little ironic, so the puppet stays and his fingers resume their wayward strokes.

But the way Bro's body tenses does not, in any way, go unnoticed.

Ah.

So that's it.

Dave knows what Smuppets mean to his Bro. Because, well, the man had over ten sites bookmarked in dedication to the little bastards, not to mention sites of his own creation. He supposed that's why it didn't really affect him when the realization came to him, and why, after only a moments hesitation, he continued what he was doing. Except now the only coy thing about it was the way he stared guilelessly at the television in front of him, oblivious to the fact that Bro had long since placed his fork back on the counter.

His fingers are what he considers light and teasing, brushing against the Smuppet's supple fur, from plush rump to the faded tip of its nose, he strokes it gently, slowly. A commercial blares on, and Dave almost misses the audible swallow Bro is working down.

He almost sneers, but it's just too good to stop now.

Feigning a yawn, he slips further down, throwing a leg out and onto the coffee table for good measure as he settles the Smuppet on his lower belly. One arm is thrown up over the arch of the couch, the other continuing its ascent. Dave wriggles a bit, decides that his spreadeagled display is almost more than enough, and spares Bro a wayward glance before returning his attention to a Doritos commercial.

From what he had seen, Bro was quickly coming to a limit. He was blatantly staring now, hands clenching where they sat on his lap, undeniably straining to touch the rising lump pressing up beneath them. Of course, Dave can't see all of this himself, but he knows, he just knows, and it makes this victory all the sweeter as he groans contentedly and grips the Smuppet's nose just a little too tightly in passing.

It squeaks.

Bro speaks.

“Comfortable?”

Dave couldn't help it; he was impressed, “Yeah.” He spares his guardian a glance, smirk falling into place. What he says next is almost a whisper, “And you?”

Bro doesn't reply for several seconds, tasting the tension in the air, and then, “Of course.”

Then he lapses back into silence, and Dave knows now that he's been figured out, that no matter how hard you squint nothing about this is even slightly innocent. But he doesn't care because the television has gone quiet and the remote is clattering against the floor as he rolls onto his back, Smuppet slipping to rest over his crotch as he eyes Bro down. Something passes between them, something that says this is terribly wrong, but Dave's hand is sliding upwards once more, and Bro's breath almost hitches at the withering squeak that echoes in passing.

Neither of them moves from where they are because there are still limits and this is still undeniably wrong, but for just a few moments they're able to pretend that it's almost right. Dave's hand never stops, and with every pass of his hand along that impudently elongated nose, his hips arch just a tiny bit higher, breath passing thick and hot from his lips. He's putting on a show and Bro is eating it up, face expressionless but irreparably dangerous as his hand finally reaches for the arch of his zipper.

Dave lets it fly because it's okay, it's alright to pretend that it isn't Bro's cock that the man is working, and that Dave isn't the one inciting it. That those faceless, glaring shades aren't watching him as he moans just a bit too loud and palms the Smuppet's ass with his other hand.  
From some safe angle, the subtlety in their expressions could almost be innocent. From a corner or a shadow it would almost be hard to tell what was passing.

There were no words. There were no moves to join one another.

Dave grips the base of the Smuppet's nose with one hand, the other working against the tip as his tongue passes over his lips, glasses sliding dangerously low. He smirks and meets Bro's eyes behind his shades, grinding his hips into the Smuppet, and all of it suddenly becomes too much.

Bro's head tips back, lips parting ever so slightly, and Dave pretends it's okay his name isn't among the things falling from his lips as he comes. It's too quick and too sudden, and not even slightly enough, but Bro finally relaxes, allowing the tension in his shoulders to fall away. Dave finishes quickly afterwords, arching beneath the Smuppet in his arms, holding it tight and ignoring the squawk of displeasure it leases. He just holds on and lets his eyes fall shut, job done. Victory won.

When he catches his breath he doesn't stop to think about what's happened. Just sets the Smuppet aside and reaches for the remote once more, ignoring the creak of a chair against tile as Bro stands and places his dishes in the sink.

He doesn't thank him. Doesn't look at him. Just resumes normal life and walks past the couch on his way back to his room. Dave lets him go, knowing what passed was abnormal, rare, and that is wasn't something he should already be planning on doing again.

The back hall creaks, but before the opening and closing of the master room door, something sails through the air and flips over the back of the couch. Dave stares over at the thing laying across his hip in awe, almost missing the quiet chuckle as a door slams shut.

Dave blinks, then smirks.

Nose suggestive, ass plushy and impudent, a bright red Smuppet stares up at him. Normally Dave would flick it off of him and grind it into the floor with the heel of his foot, but something about its bright red aura appeals to him...

He lets it stay.

But just for a few minutes.


End file.
